The Call
by Fynnegan
Summary: John always calls the boys when he's gone on a hunt, not the other way around. Hurt!Sam


The Call

Summary: John always calls the boys when he's on a hunt, not the other way around. Hurt!Sam

Disclaimer: If I owned them I assure you I would be nowhere near a computer.

* * *

John is sitting at the small table in a dirty motel room in some deadbeat town in Iowa. He congratulated himself, not for the first time, for leaving his boys in Nebraska, as he looked down at the outdated, brown shag carpet, filthy matching curtains and holey, paisley bed spread. He was pretty sure he'd just seen a cockroach the size of his hand run under the creaky metal bed frame.

The apartment where he'd left his boys wasn't, by any means, spectacular, but it was a far sight more sanitary than the flee infested room he was in. Dean had his license now and that meant John could leave for longer and do so without feeling quite as bad about it.

Now John was looking over the notes he'd taken at the town's tiny library and with any luck is would be a simple salt and burn. It looked cut and dry, one angry spirit—check. One body—check. One jug of lighter fluid, one of salt—check, check. One pack of matches—Check. And one hunter who sincerely did not want to spend one more night at the Roach Inn—Check.

John's head jerked up from his notes when the phone on the bedside table rang. Who would be calling him? No one even knew where he was except for the boys and Sam and Dean didn't call John. They had a system, John called once, hung up and then called back at least once a day to check in. Never the other way around.

John listened carefully, the phone rang once and hung up.

"Wrong Number." John muttered to himself shaking his head and pulling his notes closer. After a couple of seconds the phone rang again and this time kept ringing. He quickly made his way to the phone and pulled it off the receiver, he held it to his ear, but remained silent trying to hear who might be on the other end.

"Dad?"

John let out the breath he'd been holding. "Dean." He couldn't say he was relieved to hear his oldest son's voice. Dean wouldn't call just to chat or even to see how the hunt was progressing. Especially since John had called that morning before the boys left for school to let them know he'd be at the library until it closed and then he'd try to get the hunt taken care of that night so he wouldn't be calling them to say 'good night' and they shouldn't worry. As a matter of fact there were very few reasons that Dean would call and none of them were helping to soothe the sick feeling in John's stomach.

After a short pause. "Dad?"

That one word said a lot to John. Dean was trying to sound normal, although to John's experienced ears he sounded more husky than usual, he was swallowing a lot and he sounded unsure. Not at all like his cocky, macho sixteen year old self.

"Dean?" He wouldn't waste his breath asking if everything was alright, Dean wouldn't be calling if it was. "What is it, Son?"

"Dad," Dean swallowed loudly again. "Dad, I..." At that point the words came rushing out so fast John barely understood him. "I crashed the car, Dad, and we're at the hospital and they took Sammy back and they won't let me see him and they told me to call you and I didn't know that else to do!"

John was pretty sure Dean was crying, but he couldn't be positive. The boys breathing was rapid and shaky, but he wasn't sniffling.

"Dad?"

"Calm down, Dean." John said authoritatively, almost immediately Dean's breathing slowed. Dean was more comforted with orders and harsh tones than soft, gentle reassurances. The more demanding John got the more relaxed Dean got. Sam was just the opposite Sam wasn't calm until everyone around him was calm. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me what happened." John held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and pulled his duffel bag on to the spare bed. He crammed his clothes in it as he listened.

"Ice storm, there was an ice storm. We were sliding I over-corrected, hit a tree. Sammy...I couldn't wake him up, Dad."

John sighed, just as quickly as orders calmed Dean, talking about his brother could send him straight back into a panic.

"Pull it together, Dude." John told him. "Sammy's fine, he'll be fine, probably just a good knock on the head."

"'s blood."

"Don't mumble."

"There was lots of blood."

"Head wounds bleed, Dude, you know that. Be calm. You know that's the best thing you can do for Sammy and I'm on my way. No more than two hours."

"Yes, sir."

"Has a doctor looked at you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Your okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dean." John growled just to scare the truth out of him.

"Just stitches, I'm fine."

"What name did you give?"

There was a pause and John knew Dean was looking at the insurance card. "Fischman."

"Good boy. I'm coming."

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"I'm really, really sorry about Sam and the car and I know you trusted me to—"

"Dean—"

"I gotta go, Dad, I think I see the doctor."

* * *

John hurried through the hospital, nearly taking out an elderly man with a walker, as he came to a sliding stop by the front desk. He spent the 2 hour drive trying to decided if Dean was over-exaggerating about Sam's condition, which was pretty likely, or if he should really be worried. In the end, after two hours of nothing but dark corn fields, ice-covered asphalt, and his own thoughts, he'd come to the conclusion that not only Sam, but Dean also must be on his deathbed after going through every worst possible scenario in his head.

The nurse at the desk gave John a startled look, peering up at him, thin reading glass sliding low on her nose. "Can I—"

"Boys." John gasped for air. "My sons were in a car accident."

"What are their names?"

"Sam and Dean Fischman."

"Just go through these doors here, it's down hall just past the bathrooms on the right."

John nodded his appreciation before taking off towards the doors. The small exam room was inclosed by walls instead of curtains, which John was thankful for, the door stood ajar and John quietly pushed it open.

A sigh of relief burst forth as he walked in to find Dean sitting in a chair next to the bed, which had the railing lowered on the side he was on. His elbow resting on the bed, head pressed against his fist as he flipped through the channels on the TV. He had a bruise across his check and mean looking split lip as well as some gauze wrapped around his forearm.

Sam was laying on the bed, which was raised so he was more or less sitting up. He had a large piece of gauze taped over his eyebrow, an impressive black eye forming and his right arm was in a navy blue sling. He was in hospital attire, wearing a gown that John was sure would piss him off when he caught sight of the farm animals that decorated it. Most importantly though, his eyes were open and he was blinking tiredly at the TV screen.

"You pick something." Dean said sliding the remote across the blankets nudged Sam's left hand with it.

"Nothin' on." Sam replied.

John cleared his throat and took a determined step into the small room.

"Dad!" Dean darted out of the chair and Sam sat up a bit straighter in the bed.

"Are you boys alright? What did the doctor say?"

"Concussion and a broken collar-bone." Dean said as John moved closer to the bed to inspect his boys.

"Dean got stitches." Sam announced.

"So did Sammy." Dean countered. "The doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation."

"But I don't have to. Right, Dad?"

"If the doctor wants you to stay you're staying." John laid one arm across Dean's shoulders and the other hand he used to brush Sam's hair back. "I don't think you realize how much you worried your brother and me."

Sam looked down at his lap, fiddling briefly with his sling to avoid looking at John. "Sorry, Sir." He muttered almost inaudibly.

"It's not your fault, just do as your told."

"Yes, Sir."

"Get some sleep, kiddo."

Sam didn't need to be told twice, his eyes drifted shut almost immediately. John ran his hand through Sam's hair once more before patting his head gently and pulling up the covers.

When Dean saw that Sam was asleep he turned to John. "Dad, I'm so sor—"

"Have you had anything to eat yet?"

Dean looked startled. "No sir not yet, but—"

"Lets go see if we can find anything edible in the cafeteria, huh?" John led the way out of the room. It wasn't until they each had some food and were sitting at a table that John spoke. "Dean, this wasn't your fault."

"But, Dad, I should have been more careful."

"And I should have got the Impala some better winter tires before sending an inexperienced sixteen year old out on the road, but I doubt either of us could have changed this."

"Sammy got hurt."

"He did, but he can't live in a bubble Dean, he's going to get hurt sometimes and sick sometimes. That's just how it is, Dude."

"What if Sam blames me?"

"Sam?" John chuckled. "Sam doesn't blame you." He waited for Dean's unconvinced nod before continuing. "Now, as your punishment for scaring 10 years off my life you'll have to help Bobby get the Impala back in order."

Dean smiled. "What's Sam's punishment?"

"His is much worse." John said grimly. "He'll have to deal with you fussing over him."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure I'll be the only one fussing over him."

John chuckled softly. "Why don't you go back to your brother, I'm going to grab some coffee."

* * *

Dean tried to be quiet as they reentered the room and took his seat by the bed. Sam cracked an eye open.

"Dean?"

"Do you need something, Sammy?"

"No."

"Then go back to sleep, kid, no way the doctor's gonna let you leave tomorrow if you don't get some rest."

"Dean? I'm mad at you."

Dean looked ashamed, he know Sam blamed him for the accident, but hearing it was so much worse. "Yeah, kiddo, I know. I'm really sorry about the accident, I never wanted you to get hurt. I should have—"

"The accident?" Sam struggled to sit up a bit, gasping in pain as he jarred his injured shoulder.

"Easy, Sammy! Let me help you." Dean helped Sam sit up a bit, fussing with the pillows, before Sam could stop him.

"Dean," Sam grabbed Dean's hand and Dean looked confused. "The accident wasn't your fault, coulda happened to anyone. 'S the stupid ices fault."

Dean scoffed softly readjusting Sam's blankets with his spare hand. "Then why are you mad at me?"

"Are you kidding?" Sam snaked his hand out of Dean's and grabbed a fistful of the oversized hospital gown. "You let them dress me in farm animals, dick!"

* * *

My first story in a long time. Sappy I know, I was just in one of those moods I guess. I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for taking the time to read. Please bear with me on the grammatical errors... I'm still on the hunt for a beta.

Thanks and take care!

Fynn


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